A New Dawn
by xxbreuddwydioxz
Summary: Harry is tired of everything. Of being expected to save the world. Of expecting himself to save the world. And in the light of his fifth year, some things are about to change forever. Returnfromdead!JP
1. Prologue

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Angst/Family

**Summary:** Harry is tired of everything. Of being expected to save the world. Of expecting himself to save the world. And in the light of his fifth year, some things are about to change forever. Returnfromdead!JP

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to JK… sadly…

**Prologue**

James smiled as his son attempted to stumble towards him. "That's it Harry!" he crowed, swooping down to pick up the toddler when he lurched forward unsteadily. "You've almost got it!"

Harry gurgled in response, hands coming up to grasp James's hair.

James eyes widened in horror. "Ugh, not the hair, Harry!" he moaned dramatically, trying to extricate his hair from the surprisingly tight grasp of his son. When that failed, he turned to his wife. "Lily," he whined, "Harry's got my hair again! Help me!"

Lily looked up from where she was seated in an armchair, reading an incredibly enormous book titled _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_. "I see," she said amusedly, before returning to her reading.

James took offense. "That's not exactly helpful!"

"Mhmm," was his distracted response.

"I mean, honestly, _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_? That can't be interesting!" Lily did not respond, and James turned his woe towards his son, who had yet to release his hair from the demonic hold. "Your mother is crazy," he told Harry seriously, "No one but her would read a book like that for _fun_."

At that, Lily replied. "It's interesting to see a wizarding perspective of it. I have, after all, first-hand experience with it and – " she stopped when she noticed the odd expression of James's face. "James?" she asked hesitantly.

James turned to her, frowning. "Something's wrong with the wards; I'm not sure – " he stopped once he realized what he was sensing. Quickly, he thrust Harry, who had let go of his hair in fright at hearing the panic in his father's voice, at his wife. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –"

Lily took Harry hesitantly, eyes making it clear that she wanted to stay to help James. He made a shooing motion, and reluctantly she stumbled from the room and up the stairs to the nursery. The living room door burst open.

James turned to face Voldemort, who let out a cackle of high-pitched laughter.

"James Potter," he murmured, fingering his wand slowly, "What a nice surprise."

"You _bastard_," James hissed, hoping to distract Voldemort; the longer he could hold him off, the more chance Lily had of escaping with Harry.

Red eyes narrowed at his daring remark. "You dare – " the monster started, before calming himself. "No matter," he brushed it off, "You'll soon be dead anyways."

"How did you get in?" James demanded. _Please answer, please answer_ he prayed as he edged slowly away from the stairs Lily had fled up and into a more defendable position. Luckily, Voldemort took the bait.

"Why your _dear_ friend, of course!" Voldemort exclaimed triumphantly, "He so willingly gave up the information that would cause his best friend's and family's downfall."

James felt his eyes widen, "Liar!" he snarled, "Peter would never betray us!" But even as he said it, he felt a niggling doubt in the back of his mind. How else would Voldemort have been able to get in?

"You doubt me?" Voldemort questioned, eyebrows rising in a cruel mockery of surprise. "I assure you, I do not lie. I only speak the truth, though you are too weak to hear it. Pettigrew would do anything to please his master. And he was always so _jealous_ of you… Really, betraying you was no hard feat at all."

James felt a trickle of ice down his chest, where it pooled heavy and cold in his gut. "_Bastard_," he snarled again, having nothing else to say. His brain scrambled for something more to distract Voldemort, but he came up blank in light of the newest revelation.

Voldemort laughed at his distress. "Well, enough of this chit chat, though I did enjoy it." He raised his wand. "Say goodbye to this world, James Potter."

A glare of green light left his wand, and James jumped to the side as it sped through where he had previously been standing. Heart beating fast, he raised his own wand in retaliation. "Reducto! Expelliarmus! Stupefy!" he spew out, wand and mouth moving fast. All of a sudden he was unbelievably thankful for Auror training.

Voldemort cackled as he easily dodged James's spells. "Do you really think you can defeat me, Potter?"

No, he didn't, but every second he lasted against Voldemort was a second that Lily and Harry gained in their escape.

"And really," the bastard continued, "Stupefy? You can do better than that, Potter."

James glared, and released a string of curses, each more painful than the next so that shortly they were bordering on dark. Soon the two wizards were flinging spells toward each other with astonishing speed, and it was all James could do to defend himself.

Panting, he dove to the left to avoid Voldemort's crucio, but stumbled slightly when he stepped on Harry's stuffed dragon. It was a minor faltering, but it was all Voldemort needed and James let out a muffled curse as he felt a slicing hex tear an impressive gash through his left arm. The pain suitably distracted him, and he could do nothing as the next crucio hit him straight on. Unbelievable agony, sharp as hot knives, tore through his body and it took all of his enormous will power not scream. It felt like hours before Voldemort lifted the curse, and he lay there, muscles spasming and unable to move.

Voldemort delivered a nasty kick to his ribs, and James heard a distinct snapping noise. Slowly, Voldemort leaned down until his lips were at James's ears. "It was all in vain, you know," he whispered, "I put spells on the house before I came in. Your precious wife and son are trapped in the nursery. There's _nothing_ you can do."

James felt his eyes widen in horror. "You _bastard_," he snarled, finding the strength to struggle as Voldemort rose back up. "You – "

James was suddenly cut off as Voldemort wandlessly sealed his mouth shut. "Let's have none of that, hmm? Very unseemly." And, once again, his wand rose, lips forming over the dreaded words. James knew without a doubt that he couldn't dodge; his arm was throbbing, his ribs were sending shooting pains through his chest, and his muscles were still shaking from the crucio. He was going to die.

_Lily,Harry_ he though desperately. _I love you. So much_.

And as the green light sped towards him, he remembered the vow he had taken when he had assumed his right as the head of the Potter family after his father's death.

_And when I die, I will go with honor. I will go having defended the Potter name to the best of my ability. And even though I will be gone, my protection will not fade. The family legacy will forever live on._

Harry would live. He would have to. And with him, Lily.

He had done his duty.

And with a soft thump, James Potter's head hit the floor, brown eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling above.

~***~

**AN: **And there's the prologue of my new story! Cookies to the person who recognize the book Lily's reading. ^^ And I promise you that this will be different from other 'James comes back from the dead stories'. :) Not that there's enough of those out there to have become cliche...

And don't worry - the rest of the chapters will be a quite a bit longer; this is only short because it's the prologue.

So…review? Pretty please? I'd love you forever and ever and ever! :)


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and editors.**

Chapter One

His head ached, a pounding dizzying feeling that swept through his whole body. Vaguely, as though it wasn't through his own body, his senses took in his surroundings: the scrape of hard wood against his back, the cloying musky scent, the echoing silence.

His thoughts swam hazily to the surface of his mind, and he briefly wondered where he was. Slowly, as though his eyes were weighed down by weights, James Potter flickered open his eyes.

Pitch black.

_What?_

Shaking away the remaining fuzziness clinging to his mind, he focused on his situation. Where was he? What was the last thing that had happened to him? …he couldn't remember anything.

Fighting back a wave of panic – something he had been taught as an Auror – he tried to move his limbs only to encounter a flaring pain in his arm and sharp ache in his chest that he immediately associated with broken ribs. How had he – _Voldemort_.

_Lily._

_Harry._

Were they okay? Had they managed to escape, or had he, the person who had promised to protect them, failed? He couldn't bear to lose them; not Lily, not his baby boy. Taking a deep breath, ignoring the agony that tore through his chest at the action, he refocused his mind. He couldn't help them until he figured out where he was. And if he needed to get out.

Using his right arm – it was his left that was injured – he felt around. A wall a couple inches to his right, and another one no more than an inch and half in front of his face. Somehow he had managed to get himself trapped in a small wooden box.

_Why didn't Voldemort just kill me?_ _Why put me inside a box?_

And he could have sworn that he had shot the killing curse at him. He had the distinct memory of a bright green light heading towards him, and then… nothing.

But before he could contemplate any of this, he needed to get out. And find Lily and Harry. And make sure they were alive because _god damn it_ there was no way they couldn't be. Picturing Godric's Hollow clearly in his mind, he focused all his energy towards it, and was surprised when he felt the distinct squeezing feeling that accompanied apparation. Had Voldemort not put wards up?

Then suddenly, he felt himself dropped onto the floor. Faltering, he landed awkwardly on his side, ribs burning. Disregarding the pain, he pushed himself upwards, glancing around the nursery.

Nothing.

No Lily, no Harry, _nothing_. In fact, the whole room looked as though it was completely devoid of life. The warm, homey feel that it had once had had been replaced by a thick layer of dust, peeling paint, and an echoing stillness.

What had happened? He was so confused, and all he wanted to do was find Lily and Harry so he could hold them in his arms. And forget the aching weariness of his body, the sharp pain that tore through his chest every time he moved, the tenderness in his arm, the fact that he had somehow survived _the killing curse_, that he had been trapped in a wooden box, _that he didn't know what the hell was happening_.

Sirius. Sirius would help him. He had just moved into his parents' house no more than a week ago after his mother's death. Padfoot would know what to do, whether Lily and Harry were alright; his old friend had never failed him before. Summoning up his last reserves of energy, his disappeared with a loud pop.

He reappeared in front of Sirius's house with a feeling of immense relief. Stumbling up the steps, practically tripping over his feet, he knocked loudly on the door.

"Sirius!" he called desperately, "Sirius! I know you're there! Open the door, god damn it!"

Silence.

"Sirius!" he called louder. He had to open the door, he _had_ to. He didn't know what else to do. "Sirius, _please_," he said, softer this time. A feeling of helplessness rose in him, and he rested his head against the aged door. He would just have to go somewhere else for help. Hogwarts maybe? Albus would help him.

Then suddenly the door opened, and he stumbled forward onto his knees. A wand jabbed into his throat and a voice growled menacingly in his ear.

"And who do you think you are?"

Confused, James glanced up through his fringe. The man who held him at wand point was horribly disfigured. A fake eye in one socket, half of his nose missing, and scars down his face that looked exactly like the ones on the face of his old Auror instructor. Wait – he peered closer at the face.

"Instructor Moody?" he questioned, raising his head so that he could look him in the eye.

The man reared back, looking as though he had seen a ghost. He recovered easily, and the wand jabbed harder into his neck. "I did not ask for my name, I asked for _yours_." A small pause. "And why you are parading around as a dead person might be helpful too. And how the hell you found this place."

What was going on? Parading around as a dead person? Hesitantly he answered. "James Potter."

"Rubbish. _Tell me your name_. I'm not going to ask again, boy."

James opened his mouth to respond, but was saved as a voice cut through.

"Alastor? Who is it?" So it _was_ his old Auror instructor. But what had happened to his face? And why didn't he recognize him?

"Someone who is refusing to tell me his name," the Auror answered, with a glare directed at James.

James frowned; he didn't have time to deal with this – he needed to find Lily and Harry. "Look, I'm sorry, I must have knocked on the door of the wrong house. I'll just be going now." Gathering all of his fading strength, he pushed himself up so that he was standing. His arm ached in protest, and his chest felt a sharp twang of discomfort. Moody stared at him, eyes assessing, wand now pointing directly at his face.

"I don't think so, boy." And before James could even think of dodging, he was hit with the red light of a stupefy.

oOo

When he came to, it was to a cacophony of noise and the pleasant surprise that his headache had cleared. He was tied to something – a chair he guessed – and his hands were bound awkwardly behind him and his feet to each other. James opened his eyes warily, not quite sure what to expect.

He was in a large room. His chair was situated in the middle of it, and he was surrounded by a large group of wizards and witches. Moody was standing close to his chair, arguing heatedly with a maternal-looking woman with red hair.

"I don't care if he's young, he's _dangerous_!" the Auror growled menacingly.

"Well, I refuse to do something illegal," the woman protested with a, James had to admit, damn scary glare.

"This _society_ is illegal, woman!"

The woman pursed her lips in an annoyed fashion, and turned away with tight shoulders as Moody let out a satisfied grunt, obviously thinking he had won the argument. James wasn't so sure.

But what had they been talking about? _Him?_ How the hell was he dangerous? Why was Moody acting as though he was some sort of criminal? He just wanted to find Harry and Lily. That was all. Find Lily and Harry.

Eyebrows drawn heavily together, he accidentally met the eyes of a man across the room from him. With swallow skin, lank, greasy hair, and a rather large hooked nose, he looked suspiciously like a much older version of Severus Snape. As their eyes met, the man let a menacing smirk stretch across his face. Yep – definitely Snape.

"I believe our guest has woken." He spoke in the same silky voice James remembered Snape spoke in (he hadn't seen the man since they left Hogwarts). And even though the Snape-lookalike had spoken softly, the room quieted almost instantly and James suddenly found himself the center of attention of more than fifty or so people.

"Indeed he has!" cried a jovial voice. James turned his head stiffly to the left, surprised to see Albus Dumbledore walking towards him in fluorescent purple robes. He looked different from when James had last seen him – a longer beard, a few more wrinkles – but the twinkling eyes were the same.

"Albus!" he cried, immensely relieved to see a familiar friendly face. "Thank god you're here! I have no idea why I'm tied up, but I need to get to Lily and Harry. Do you know where they are? Are they alright? Voldemort – " He was abruptly cut off when a fist swung at him. Quickly ducking his head to the side, he barely missed being punched in the face.

"What – " he started confusedly.

"How dare you! _How dare you?!_ I don't know why you look like him, but you'd better stop these games soon. Or else. You hear me?" James was grabbed by his shirt and shaken violently. "You hear me, you filthy scum?"

"Sirius?" he asked looking into the aged face of his best friend, "I don't understand – "

Another fist swung at him, but Sirius (Was it Sirius? He was so confused.) was pulled back before it could make contact with his face. James looked at the man. While he definitely looked like his friend, he had a wariness, a loss of vivacity that his friend had never had. Confused beyond belief and heart in his throat, he turned to Dumbledore for help.

"Albus?" he tried again, "What's happening? Where's Lily and Harry? I just want to see Lily and Harry!" To his horror he felt his throat closing up, and he blinked his eyes rapidly. It was too much – everything. He needed his son and his wife. That's all he wanted; why was everything turning into a huge mess? He felt a huge rush of hatred towards Voldemort for messing up his life. If he had done anything to Lily or Harry, he would hunt the monster down personally.

He turned pleading eyes to his old headmaster, who had a pensive look on his face. "Why don't you tell us your name first?" the old man asked gently.

James felt his eyes widen, and he snapped.

"My name?!" he growled out angrily, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Why the hell are you asking me my name?! Why is everybody pretending they don't know me? Why does everyone look so bloody _old_? Why am I tied to a chair for some unknown reason? Why won't anyone tell me where Lily and Harry are? _I just want to know where Lily and Harry are_!" He was screaming by the end of it, chest heaving as he took a deep breath. His shoulders drooped, and his voice lowered, "I'm so confused. I want my son and my wife. My Lily, my Harry. Just tell me where they are, and I'll leave."

"Well, seeing as you managed to enter a property protected by the Fidelius Charm, I'm not quite sure I want you to leave just yet until I figure out how you did it, young man."

James ignored the man, bowing his head. This man couldn't be Dumbledore – the Dumbledore he knew wouldn't do this to him. He'd tell him where his family was. Everything – Moody, Snape, the broken figure of his best friend – was all a lie. Was this all part of an elaborate revenge scheme by Voldemort? Were these really Death Eaters? If it was, it was working. James felt as though his whole life was falling apart, one broken piece at a time – his family, his friends, his mentors, hell, even his _enemies_.

Distantly, he could hear the people murmuring in the background – who he was now sure were some phony representation of the Order. Ignoring them, he shifted his hands behind his back, attempting to loosen the rope that bound them. Unfortunately, not only did it aggravate the throbbing wound on his arm, it also seemed to be of a rare magical rope that tightened the more you moved, and James cursed inwardly. He was trapped. Giving up on escape, he turned his attention to the argument before him, hoping that he would garner some clues from the debate about what was happening.

"Veritaserum," Moody was saying, "It's the only way we know he's telling the truth."

A multitude of voices started speaking over each other in response, some angry, others agreeing, but all emphatic in their convictions.

"Silence!" Dumbledore commanded, cutting through the rising noise, "Though I strongly dislike saying this, I believe that Moody speaks the truth. In times such as these, one can never be too careful. And if Voldemort can get through the Fidelius Charm, that is something we must be aware of." He turned to the Snape-lookalike. "Severus? Would you…?"

The man inclined his head gracefully. "Of course," he murmured, and James widened his eyes. They were going to use a truth potion on him? _They_ were the ones in need of it, not him. Twisting his mouth unpleasantly, he resigned himself to his fate. If they knew he wasn't lying, maybe they would actually tell him if Lily and Harry were alright. If they weren't Death Eaters, that was.

Snape (Dumbledore had called him Severus, so James could draw no other conclusion) returned shortly, holding a small vial of the clear potion.

"Would you like me to administer it?"

"Please," Dumbledore nodded.

James glared heavily at Snape as the man approached him. He had little choice, however, and didn't resist as his mouth was roughly forced open. Three drops were placed on his tongue, and he felt his body relax and a light haze settle over his overactive mind.

Dumbledore turned to him. "What is your full name?"

"James Edward Potter."

A small pause.

"And your birthday?"

"March 27th, 1960."

Stunned silence, then a clamor of noise – people shouting, yelling, screaming.

"Quiet!" Dumbledore ordered harshly, turning back to James. "Why are you here? How did you get in?"

"I woke up in a dark, wooden box. The last thing I remembered was dueling with Voldemort, and getting hit by the killing curse while trying to give Lily and Harry time to escape," James answered calmly through the fog surrounding his brain, "So I immediately apparated to Godric's Hollow, but Lily and Harry weren't there, and there were no signs of life. Confused, I came here in an attempt to contact Sirius; I knew he had just moved into his parents' house not that long in. I thought he would be able to tell me where Lily and Harry were. I don't know how I got in; I was stunned, so I assume I was levitated –"

"What is the date?" Dumbledore interrupted his monologue.

"October 31, 1981, or it was when Voldemort appeared."

"October 31, 1981," Dumbledore repeated, voice soft, "I see."

"What is your animagus form?" A voice cut in, and James looked up to see it was the Sirius-lookalike, with a crazed look on his face.

"A stag."

"The password to wipe the Marauder's Map?"

"Mischief managed," James replied, and the man's eyes widened, mouth slowly opening.

"It can't be, it can't be," the Sirius-lookalike repeated to himself, still staring at James flabbergasted, "I can't fucking believe it." He turned away, hands clenched in tight fists, and James suddenly noticed that the person he was standing next to was an older version of Remus Lupin. His mind was too fuzzy to be shocked.

"Severus," Dumbledore said into the stunned stillness of the room, "Administer the antidote." The man stepped forward in response, jerking James's head roughly up as he did so. The potion trickled bitterly down his throat, and James felt his mind clearing. The calmness that accompanied the drug disappeared, replaced with the anxiety and desperateness he had harbored beforehand.

"Will you tell me where Lily and Harry are now?" he demanded of his old headmaster.

The man was silent for what seemed an eternity before he finally replied. "James," he said, not meeting his eyes, "I'm afraid you're not where you think you are. This is no longer 1981, but 1995."

"Liar," he responded, but nevertheless Dumbeldore's words had a ring of truth. The dust at Godric's Hollow, the old appearance of everyone, them being confused by _his_ appearance (he would be, after all, a lot older by now).

And with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he accepted the man's words as truth. He was in the year 1995.

"But Lily and Harry – they're alright, right?" he asked, deciding to ignore the latest revelation.

Dumbledore didn't respond immediately, and James continued in a harsher voice, getting closer to hysterical, "They're alright? Right? _Right?_"

Dumbledore finally murmured a response and he almost wished he hadn't asked. "Lily is dead, James."

And his whole world fell apart.

oOo

**A/N: **Okay, the first chapter! :) Though there are some things I'd like to point out. Firstly, James's characterization is a bit… 'off' in this chapter; this is because he's just come back from being dead for basically 14 years, _and_ his last memory is of a rather traumatic experience.

Second, this story will be from both Harry's and James's point of view, but I just haven't introduced Harry yet. I think it will be next chapter, but there is the possibility that it will get pushed to the third. I think they'll both show up in relatively equal amounts, but this might change as the story progresses.

And I could have sworn there was a third thing, but I can't remember it for the life of me.

Oh! And just in case anyone cares, I _do_ post my progress of the chapters on my profile. This is actually more for my benefit than yours – seeing my lack of progress makes me write more, and when I do update the word count it makes me feel unbelievably accomplished ;) – but I thought I'd let you guys know just in case… I dunno, take a really long time to update, and you want to see whether I'm actually working on the chapter.

Um… I think that's it.

Review? XD I'd love you forever and ever! ;) …And a _huge_ thanks to those who did review the previous chapter; it definitely motivated me to write this one.

O.O That was a _long_ author's note. Heh. *sweatdrop*


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and editors.**

Chapter Two

"I can't believe it, Remmie," Sirius murmured, looking at his friend across the kitchen table, "It's – it's…"

"Inconceivable," Remus offered from between sips of his tea.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, "Inconceivable… I mean, I don't even understand how it's _possible_." A slight pause. "But it was James. I'm his best friend…and that was him. A little disorientated and hysterical, but…"

Remus nodded, putting his cup of tea down in front of him. Sirius could tell from the slightly slumped position and how he was even quieter than usual that his friend was as shaken as Sirius was – he just hid it better.

It had been two weeks since James had appeared on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, and Sirius had only just gotten through the denial that had immediately accompanied it. For goodness knows how long, he had thought that his best friend was dead, and now to find out that he had been _brought back to life_ was mind-boggling. He wasn't sure what to do with himself.

_Talk to him_ he told himself. _I should talk to him_. For the past two weeks, James had been holed up in a room grieving Lily and refusing to come down. Sirius did not think he had even fully processed that he was more than a decade in the future yet; Lily and Harry had meant the world to him.

"We should talk to him," Remus spoke up suddenly, startling Sirius with how similar their thoughts were.

"Yeah," he nodded, "We should…though are we really not allowed to tell him anything?"

"Yes – you know why, Sirius."

"Yeah, I know," he responded bitterly. "It's bloody _Voldemort_. Because if James knows about Harry, then he'll insist on seeing him, and then Harry'll find out, and then Voldemort will know through Harry's scar." He glared viciously at the innocent tabletop. "But I don't care if it makes sense. It's not right, Moony! Harry has a chance at family… and to keep them apart is just wrong."

"I know," was the soft reply.

Sirius sighed, and pushed the subject out of his mind knowing it would only make him angrier. He instead turned his thoughts back to his distraught friend holed up in one of the bedrooms upstairs. "After the meeting?" he questioned.

"After the meeting."

***

James found himself standing at the top of the staircase. Down below, he could hear the gentle lull of conversation, occasionally punctuated by a sharp exclamation or a particularly passionate comment.

He wasn't ready to face this. Lily was dead (and Harry? Was Harry dead too? He couldn't remember Dumbledore mentioning him – his chest swelled with unforgivable hope before he squashed it down again), and he was, god, how many years in the future? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?

Everything he had ever known was gone.

Swallowing, he pushed down his negative feelings. _Where's your Gryffindor bravery?_ he scolded himself. Ignoring his hyperactive nerves, he slowly descended the staircase until he was facing the closed kitchen door. Gathering up all of his courage, he gently pushed it open.

For a couple minutes, no one even noticed he had entered, and James took the moment to look around the room. Everyone was seated around the table, deep in discussion. Now that he knew these were the same people he had once known, faces popped out at him: that was Arthur Weasley, the woman next to him Arabella Fig. Others, however, were new: the woman with the bright bubblegum pink hair, the two noisy red-headed twins in an intense discussion with Sirius. (Oh god, _Sirius_, who was how many years older than him now?) Still others he found suspiciously lacking – where was Frank?

Eyes still roving around the table, he jerked in surprise when he met the twinkling blue ones of Albus Dumbledore.

"James, my boy!" he cried jovially, "Come sit down!" He conjured a seat between him and a dark-skinned man.

The room went deathly silent. James shifted nervously.

Dumbledore continued, as if he didn't notice the pervading awkwardness, "You didn't see anyone on your way down, did you?"

James shook his head.

"Good, good. We're not quite ready for the kids to know that you're here yet – I'm sure you understand."

James nodded.

"But we'll deal with that in a little bit. Come on, sit down."

Heart beating fast in his chest, James complied. The room was still excruciatingly silent, and everyone was staring at him rather unabashedly.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

"Oh my god; you weren't kidding! He _does_ look exactly like Harry!" exclaimed the pink-haired woman.

James head turned so fast he was surprised he didn't get whiplash. "Harry?" he questioned, hope rising, "He's alive?"

At once, the room erupted into chaos.

"Idiot girl! He's not supposed to know yet!"

"I meant a different Harry! Yeah, a different one, like, Harry, uh…"

"I can't believe it!"

" – Harry Frankfurt! Yeah, that's right. You look a lot like _Harry Frankfurt._"

"He's so cute, Fred! Sitting there, all bewildered like, don't you just want to – "

"Silence." But even Dumbledore went ignored amid the frantic shouting of the Order. Obviously annoyed, the old man tapped his want against his throat before trying again. "_I said silence,_" his voice boomed across the room.

The room instantly quieted.

"Obviously," Dumbledore continued, cancelling the spell, "there will now have to be a change of plans. But we shall deal with that later. Instead, I'm sure James would love to know what is going on." The wizard turned towards him, waiting for his opinion.

He swallowed, before finding his voice. "I'm a little confused," he admitted.

The old man smiled gently. "I think we all are." He paused. "We weren't originally going to tell you this – once we explain, I think you'll understand the dangers of doing so – but we have no choice now," a glance towards Pink Hair, "and it's the right thing to do anyways.

From what we gathered when we used Veritaserum on you, you had obviously come from the night when Voldemort attacked your home – or that was your last memory, at least?"

At Dumbledore's question, James nodded, and the man continued. "You were thought to have dueled Voldemort while trying to protect your family, but were killed in the struggle. After killing you, Voldemort then tried to kill Harry because of the prophecy. However, Lily would not step aside. Voldemort killed her, then turned to Harry. But when he shot the killing curse at him, it was rebounded back to him, and Voldemort became nothing more than a harmless spirit without a body. The only evidence of Harry's encounter with death was a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He became hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, the baby who had defeated Voldemort at last."

Here Dumbledore paused, as James stared at him in shock. "My one year old son survived the killing curse and defeated Voldemort?" he asked hoarsely.

Dumbledore nodded. "We're not exactly sure how the curse was reflected, though one of the theories is that it was Lily's love that protected Harry. We can't be certain, though."

James processed this numbly. "So Voldemort's dead then?"

"Unfortunately, no. Just at the end of this school year, Voldemort used an ancient ritual to regain his body. We believe he is attempting to gather followers, and will strike once he has regained his strength. The fourteen years of peace your son has gained us is coming to an end."

"Oh," James responded unintelligently, mind whirring with the new information. Harry, his little Harry, was alive. And had reflected the killing curse back onto one of the most powerful Dark Lords in centuries. Voldemort was still alive, and a second war was due to start soon.

How had he managed to skip all the peace years, and land himself in the middle of a new war?

But Harry was alive. His nervous expression lightened, and this time he didn't try to stifle the flutter of hope growing in his belly. His baby was alive.

"But James," Dumbledore said suddenly, a warning tone in his voice, "I'm afraid Harry can't know about you."

James turned to look at the headmaster in surprise, and a bit of righteous anger. "You're saying that I can't see my own _son_?"

Dumbledore sighed. "You can see your son, James, but he can't know who you are."

"Why not?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Because Harry's scar connects him to Voldemort. And if Harry knows, then there's a chance that Voldemort could find out. It's simply not worth the risk."

James didn't respond. The argument made sense, but he didn't have to like it. He wanted his child.

"James?" Dumbledore prompted, and James inclined his head stiffly to show his agreement.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said softly. The old headmaster, however, seemed to sense that James was finished with the conversation and turned back to the meeting at hand. James listened hazily to it, his mind far away. He distantly heard discussion about a disguise for himself, as well as talk of recruiting more members. His mind, however, was focused on a little baby gurgling happily in his arms while pulling at his hair.

But Harry wouldn't be a baby anymore, would he? He'd be, what? Fifteen? James swallowed as an odd feeling made itself known in his stomach. His son was _fifteen years old_. James had missed practically Harry's whole life; all the experiences they had been supposed to share with each other had been cruelly snatched away.

James would never get to see Harry's first time on a broom. Or the smile that would have lit his son's face when he got his wand. Or pass on the Marauder's Map to him, or encourage pranks, or –

"James?" a voice interrupted his thoughts. James jerked, and looked up at the person who had said his name.

He stared in shock, before finding his voice. "Sirius," he murmured in response. He turned to the man standing next to him. "Remus."

"James," Sirius said again, this time with a smile.

And despite everything that had happened to him in these few short weeks, James found an answering tug on the corners of his lips.

***

Harry stared drearily from his position on the swing over the expanse of the park. It was oddly empty today – normally it was full of laughing children and their over-concerned mothers. The cold, biting weather must have driven them away.

It had almost driven Harry back inside as well, but he had needed to escape the confines of his room, no matter the weather. The constant monotony of life at Privet Drive, along with the snide insults and endless chores, was slowly driving him insane.

The only break in the tedium had been his birthday a few days ago, when he had received letters from his friends for the first time all summer. Harry couldn't help but feel annoyed with them – their letters had been short and full of fluff, and they _had_ promised to write to him before they had parted their separate ways.

But he'd hold off being mad at them until he knew the whole story – he was sure that they must have a reason for not writing to him. What, though, he had no idea.

Nevertheless, he was desperate for news about Voldemort. He had been relying on Ron and Hermione to keep him updated, but that plan had obviously failed. Was Voldemort gathering followers? Had he attacked yet? Had the Wizarding World finally admitted to his existence?

And, truthfully, that was the part Harry was worried about the most: whether the Wizarding World had acknowledged the return of Voldemort. The large majority of him wanted them to finally see past their noses, and accept his return so they could organize against him. But a smaller and much more selfish part of him wanted them to continue ignoring Voldemort's returned presence.

For though he didn't like to admit it, part of him knew that once the Wizarding World did recognize Voldemort, then they would look to him. And Harry would once again be expected to save them from disaster.

And that scared him. He wasn't ready to die – he was only fifteen, for god's sake! But more than that, it angered him. Because why should the Wizarding World expect a young boy to be their savior? Harry felt like he had already done so much – been through so much more than they ever would – and that maybe it was someone else's turn.

But then that made him feel horribly, terribly guilty. And tired, and exhausted. He just wanted this to end – wanted to go back to his first year at Hogwarts when everything was still so magical, so _simple_.

But he knew that could never be; what was, was, and Harry would just have to deal with it and stop complaining. Because, really, there were so many people who were worse off than him. And didn't he owe it to all the people who died, and all the people who could die, to do all that he could?

Not that he could do much – he was just an average fifteen year old wizard. Yet people didn't seem to be able to accept that Harry was normal, ordinary even. Instead, everyone had forced their expectations upon him and he slowly felt as though he was crumbling. Because there really was no way he could live up to what they all wanted him to be; he wasn't special, he wasn't powerful, and he certainly wasn't perfect.

Sometimes he thought that Hermione should be in his place; she was everything he wasn't: smart, powerful, capable.

Harry bet that Hermione wouldn't have let Cedric die – some savior _he_ was.

But Harry cut that thought off before it could go too far. He had already spent way too long dwelling on Cedric's death earlier this summer. He had moved on; he knew it wasn't his fault. That, however, did nothing to stop the pain, and the thought that he still could have _done _something. If only he had –

No, no what if's. Harry wouldn't do that to himself again. What had happened, happened. You couldn't bring back the dead.

Internally sighing to himself, Harry glanced up at the overcast sky. It was starting to get dark, and the clouds were threatening to pour; he should probably get back to Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia would be mad if he missed dinner, and it would be even worse if he tracked water into the house.

Pushing himself up from the swing, he made his way back to the road. He stopped once he got there, however, upon seeing Dudley and his gang across the way. Dudley was obviously saying goodbye – he and his friends were exchanging manly chest bumps – and since Harry didn't want to be stuck walking back with him, he quickly continued on his way.

Dudley must have seen him, though, for not a minute later Harry heard Dudley calling to him.

"Hey, freak! What're you doing, huh?"

Harry barely refrained from rolling his eyes; Dudley trying to sound 'cool' made him sound even more like an idiot than usual.

"Walking," he responded dryly once Dudley had caught up to him (Harry was slightly impressed by this, as Dudley must have had to run – as evidenced by the loud gasps coming from his right).

"Not used to exerting energy?" Harry asked innocently, glancing over at his panting cousin. He couldn't help himself – insulting Dudley was his only form of entertainment over the summer. It was best when he'd insult Dudley, and the stupid pig didn't even realize it.

This particular insult, however, had been obvious enough for even Dudley to pick up on, and Harry got a rather nasty shove in the side for it. He was saved from one of Dudley's lame come-backs, though, as the latter was still catching his breath.

They continued to walk in silence, Dudley for once not trying to make fun of Harry, when Dudley suddenly stopped.

"What's – what's…that?"

"What?" Harry asked rather sharply, turning to see what had caused Dudley to stop. He couldn't see anything. "Honestly, Dudley, whatever – " but Harry's sentence was cut short as a pervading chill seeped into his bones. Shivering slightly, he pulled his jacket closer to his body.

What – and then he saw them. The two dark figures gliding up the street towards them, encased in heavy black robes.

Dementors.

"F-freak! Stop it!" Dudley's voice trembled, "I'll tell Mum – I swear, I'm going to tell –"

But Dudley's voice broke off as he reached trembling hands up to cover his ears. "Make it stop!" he wailed.

Harry ignored Dudley's dramatics (though he couldn't help but wonder what memory of his could affect him so bad), and fumbled in his back pocket for his wand. The dementors' presence were starting to affect him badly – his body felt heavy and cold, his head dizzy and light.

He glanced up to see that the dementors had were only a few hundred feet away now, and he held up his wand in front of him.

"Expecto Patronum!" he cried, but only a thin wisp of smoke emerged from his wand.

Beginning to get frantic, Harry tried again. "Expecto Patronum!" he repeated again, this time louder, but the end result was the same.

In the background, he could hear Dudley's continuous wailing and sobbing. And distantly, through a settling haze over his mind, he heard his father's voice.

"_Take Harry and go!"_

Happy memories. He needed happy memories. Winning the Quidditch Cup. Winning the House Cup. Sirius telling him he could go stay with him.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A high-pitched cackling laughter. His mother's pleading voice. A flash of green light –

Hogwarts. His home. Ron, Hermione. His family.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

And with a blinding flash of light, a stag burst forth from his wand as Harry collapsed on the ground.

He stayed there for what seemed like ages, but was probably mere minutes, before he found the strength to push himself up again. His wand was lying on the pavement a few feet away from him – he must have dropped it – and he shakily stooped to pick it up.

There had been dementors in Privet Drive.

There had been _dementors_ in Privet Drive.

What was happening? He had thought they were under the control of the Ministry, that they guarded Azkaban…Harry felt a sudden chill grip his heart.

He was ripped from his musings, however, by loud sobbing coming from his right. Turning, Harry saw Dudley prostrate on the ground, rocking back and forth and sobbing.

Sighing, Harry bent down to help his cousin back up. It was going to be a long walk back.

***

Harry stared up at the puce face of his uncle in slight awe – even after having been friends with Ron, he had never seen someone turn such an alarming shade of red and purple.

The spit flying from his mouth, however, wasn't nearly as awe-worthy, especially as it was directed towards Harry's face.

"What did you do, boy!" his uncle was roaring, "I know it was you – you and your freakishness! If you don't fix Dudley right now, I'll – I'll –" But Harry didn't get to find out what Uncle Vernon would have done to him, for at that moment, an owl swooped through the open kitchen window, over Uncle Vernon's head, and dropped a letter in Harry's lap.

This seemed to aggravate Uncle Vernon even further, for he swelled up even more than before (which Harry had not thought possible), and began screaming again.

"You stop this right now, you freak! You hear me! Any more of this nonsense, and – "

Harry stopped listening, turning his attention instead to the letter that had been deposited in his lap.

He picked up, and flipped it over to see the official Ministry symbol on the back. Feeling slightly nervous, he tore it open, and then proceeded to read.

And then almost dropped it in shock. _Violation of underage magic for the third time? In front of a muggle? Expelled? Wand snapped?_

"Are you listening to me, boy!" No, he wasn't. "Answer me when I talk to you!" Harry ignored his uncle, mind still focused on the words in the letter. _Expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. What would he do? Where would he go? Hogwarts was his home; surely they couldn't do that? He hadn't broken the law – he would have died otherwise!

"I said –" And then with a resounding smack, Uncle Vernon's hand reached across his cheek and slapped him hard across his face. Harry stared in shock. Sure, his uncle had locked him in a cupboard, refused to give him food, even manhandled him roughly, but never before had he actually_ hit_ him – that had always been Dudley's job.

Eyes wide, Harry reached up a hand to tenderly touch his throbbing cheek.

Uncle Vernon seemed almost as surprised as Harry himself, but nevertheless continued with his self-important speech.

"There," his uncle said, "much better. Now, I want you to go into the living room, and fix whatever you did to Dudley." Uncle Vernon's face closed in on Harry's menacingly. "Understand?"

"I told you! I didn't do anything! It was the dementors!"

Uncle Vernon sneered, "And what exactly are dementors? Freakish magical creatures of some sort? I think not! Stop making excuses, boy, or you'll have a lot worse than a sore cheek."

Harry growled. He wasn't going to get accused of something he hadn't done for the second time tonight. His reply, though, was (somewhat luckily on Harry's part) cut short as another owl swooped through the window.

Uncle Vernon exploded. "_Stop the bloody owls! If one more freakish thing happens, you will not like the consequences!"_

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied as he untied the latest letter from the owl's leg. Flipping it over, he was relieved to see it did not bear a Ministry crest.

_Harry, _it read.

_Stay where you are. Do not leave Privet Drive. Dumbledore knows what happened, and people will be along to collect you shortly. Gather all your personal belongings. Don't worry – Dumbledore is discussing the accusations with the Ministry right now._

_Be safe, and _don't leave the house.

_Arthur Weasley_

When he glanced up from the letter, Uncle Vernon was busy shooing the owl out of the kitchen with a broom and swearing heavily, so Harry took this as his opportunity to escape upstairs to his bedroom.

"I'm going up," he called as he exited the kitchen.

"And what about Dudley?!" Uncle Vernon growled, "Don't think you're going anywhere without fixing my boy!"

"People will be along shortly to pick me up; they'll be able to, er, fix him."

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes, obviously debating the veracity of his statement.

"They'd better." And with that, he turned to storm from the kitchen.

Harry thought it might have been slightly more threatening if Uncle Vernon didn't have to waddle as he attempted to stride away.

***

Remus turned from the his conversation with Sirius (James had retreated upstairs an hour or so ago, saying he wanted a quick nap before dinner; Remus was still having trouble believing that he had been sitting in front of him, talking and _breathing_) when he heard his name called.

"Remus!" Dumbledore exclaimed hurriedly, "I've been looking for you."

"Oh?" he asked, frowning, wondering what it could be about – nothing that had Dumbledore sounding _hurried_ was ever good.

"I've got to rush to the ministry to sort out a minor problem, but do you think you could go with the rest of the guard to pick Harry up? I think it would go more smoothly if there was a familiar face."

Remus's frown deepened, but Sirius was the one who voiced his thoughts. "Why does Harry need picking up?"

"I'm afraid there was a run-in with some dementors at Privet Drive. Harry defended both himself and his cousin, but the ministry is charging him with underage magic in front of a muggle. Cornelius is pushing for his expulsion quite heavily."

"Dementors?" Remus gaped, "How did dementors get to Privet Drive? I thought they were still firmly under the control of the Ministry?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded gravely, "That's what's worrying me the most. I can guarantee it was not Voldemort who attacked Harry." Remus processed this, his worry growing as Dumbledore continued, "Everyone is waiting in the kitchen. Alastor, Nymphadora, Dedalus, Elphias, Hestia, Kingsley, Sturgis, Emmeline, and yourself will all be going."

Remus's eyes raised as Dumbledore spouted off practically half the Order. The headmaster noticed his surprise, and smiled grimly. "It's better to be safe than sorry, I think."

"Yes," Remus agreed as he got up to join the others in the kitchen. On his way out, he touched Sirius softly on the shoulder – a silent promise to keep Harry safe.

As the door closed behind him, he heard Dumbledore addressing Sirius.

"Do you think you could inform James of what has happened?" Even though he had been talking to the man not that long ago, he still jolted at the name. "But make sure he knows that Harry must not know."

Remus certainly didn't envy Sirius that job.

But he hoped Harry would be okay. Dementors anywhere away from Azkaban were a bad sign – but near the home of the Boy-Who-Lived himself? Only bad things could come of that, and of that he was certain.

***

**A/N:** And the next chapter, they finally meet! :) Though Harry won't know it's James, of course, and James still has no idea about Harry's home life… *grins evilly* This will be fun! xD

Anyways, I know that I haven't updated in what? Two months? *cringes* That's pretty bad, huh? But I have excuses! I've been busy with college applications, way too much homework, tae kwon do, running various clubs and fundraisers, etc, etc. School is killing me! There – if you want something to get mad at, get mad at school. If it weren't for that, I assure you that this chapter would have been out a quite awhile ago. :)

But look how long it is! _Almost twelve pages!_ A new record (for me, at least – we can disregard all those crazy authors who write like 50 page chapters regularly).

But we got some Harry. I mean, who doesn't love Harry?!? xD

And thank you as well, for all the people who reviewed last chapter! They (believe it or not) made this chapter come out a lot faster. Proof: I should be studying for my oober huge unit test in ap bio tomorrow, but instead I'm posting this chapter! I really do appreciate the readers who take the time to review.

…And that's the end of my super long, exceptionally pointless author's note. But I shall endeavor to have chapter three out within a more reasonable time period!

And now: _review!_ (Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms, even encouraged! Though I'll settle for more complimentary reviews as well. ;) )


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and editors.**

Chapter Three

James sat at the kitchen table nervously running his hands through his now light brown hair (it was, however, still as unruly as ever – it was impossible to tame the Potter hair).

Harry was coming.

"James – " Sirius started, then stopped, at a loss as to what to say. What did you say to your best friend, who had miraculously returned from the dead, who was going to see his son (now all grown up), and who was unable to tell said son who he really was?

Obviously there wasn't much to be said.

James, who had removed his hand at Sirius's attempted communication, returned it to his head where he once again began pulling at his hair in an agitated manner.

"You'll make yourself bald." Sirius pulled the hand away from his friend's hair. Instead, James's hands simply fisted themselves on the table, twitching from suppressed excitement.

But was it really excitement he was feeling? Nervous – yes. Scared – definitely. Anticipation – more than anything. And, yes, perhaps, a bit of excitement. A bit of longing, yearning. The need to be shown that at least part of his family was alive. That he had done his duty in at least protecting his son.

His Harry was coming.

Then, suddenly, he heard a voice float through the kitchen door. "And this, Harry, is Grimmauld Place."

His heart leapt into his throat, and without thinking, he stood.

-AND-

And Harry entered the room.

Harry was packing when he heard the commotion downstairs. He hurried up, shoving his belongings more forcefully into his trunk, knowing that the Dursleys and wizards didn't mix. Finally finished, he glanced around his room to see if he had missed anything. His eyes alighted on Hedwig's cage, and he picked it up. Hopefully Hedwig would be able to find him at the Burrow. That done, and certain he had gotten everything, he clunked down the stairs.

"Alright there, Potter? Want me to take the trunk?"

His eyes were focused on where he was placing his feet, so he almost stumbled as he heard the gruff voice. His hand let go of his trunk, which smashed into his legs from behind, as he quickly pulled his wand out in front of him. His head rose to meet the distorted face of Mad Eye Moody.

"Professor!" he gasped out, startled, lowering his wand.

"Not your professor, Potter. Never was."

"Er, right."

The man eyed him shrewdly. "Patronus?" he questioned gruffly.

Harry stared at him in confusion.

"Patronus, Potter," Moody said, "So I know it's you." His magical eye swiveled disconcertingly.

That made a bit more sense. "Stag," he replied, finally putting his wand away. Moody's eye followed the motion.

"You should never keep your wand in your back pocket, you know. I know this wizard who insisted on doing that. Got his buttock blasted off."

Harry blinked rapidly. "Um – " he started. What did you say to that? Thankfully, Moody didn't seem to need his input.

"Constant vigilance, I tell ya! Constant vigilance." Harry nodded dumbly. "Here, let me take that trunk." Moody whipped out his wand and Harry had to resist pulling out his own again. The image of Moody – Crouch, he told himself, Crouch Jr. – trying to kill him burned itself fresh in his brain. This Moody, however, only levitated Harry's trunk and floated it down the stairs, following it with his clunking steps. Harry hurried down after him.

Moody poked his head into the living room. "I've got him."

Harry glanced past the man, and was treated to the odd sight of the Dursleys interacting with what must have been about ten other wizards and witches. Uncle Vernon's face, he absently noted, had once again turned that interesting shade of puce and Dudley seemed to be attempting to cower behind his mother. This was failing rather spectacularly, as Dudley was at least three times as wide as Aunt Petunia.

A man turned at Moody's call, and Harry was both surprised and delighted to realize it was Remus.

"Professor!" he said happily.

Remus smiled in response, walking over to stand in the hallway with Harry. The other wizards and witches followed after him hesitantly, leaving his Uncle spluttering to himself. "It's Remus, Harry. I'm not your professor anymore."

Harry had a weird sense of déjà vu.

"I'm glad to see you're alright, though," Remus continued, obviously concerned. "When I heard that you had run into dementors…" he trailed off, a frown on his face.

"How did Voldemort get a hold of them?" Harry questioned.

Remus flinched slightly at the name, and his frown deepened. "It wasn't You-Know-Who sent them. The Ministry's still in control of all the dementors." A sinking feeling formed in his stomach.

"C'mon Remus," a bubbly pink-haired witch interrupted, "We can talk about that later. We want introductions!" Harry finally took note of the other wizards and witches crowding the hallway, all of whom were staring at him with curiosity. He nervously flattened his hair over his scar.

The witch turned to Harry, offering her hand. "I'm Tonks."

Harry shook her hand. "Um, Harry Potter?"

Tonks laughed in response. "I like him," she proclaimed to Remus.

"Wonderful," came the dry response. Harry grinned – he liked Tonks too.

Tonks waved her hand haphazardly behind her, almost hitting some poor wizard on the head. "And these good fellows back here are members of the Order of the Phoenix!"

Harry glanced at Remus, clearly confused. The man shook his head, mouthing the word 'later'. Harry turned back to Tonks, who was giving introductions.

"You know Mad Eye of course, but this is Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge," the person Tonks had almost hit on the head, "Hestia Jones, Kingsley Shackelbolt," the most intimidating of the lot, Harry noted – he stood way above six feet, "Sturgis Podmore, and lastly, Emmeline Vance."

Harry nodded to them. "Nice to meet you." He was almost certain he wouldn't remember any of their names – Tonks had rattled them off at an alarming speed.

The various witches and wizards nodded back to him, some of the offering a "Nice to meet you" back at him.

Moody interrupted them. "I think it's time we left," he said, going over to look out the window.

"Right," Remus agreed. He turned to Harry. "You have your Firebolt?"

"We're…flying?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Remus nodded. "Easiest way."

Harry felt a smile blossoming on his face. It seemed like forever since he had flown. And while flying at night in the cold while trying not to be seen by muggles weren't the ideal conditions…well, he certainly wasn't complaining.

They landed in London. Harry gazed curiously about him. "Where – " he started, but he was shushed by Remus.

"Here. Read this." A small slip of paper was shoved at him.

-AND-

_Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Harry frowned. What the – he blinked in surprise as a house magically appeared, rising out of the nonexistent space between two neighboring houses.

"Fidelius Charm," Remus explained, not really explaining anything at all, "Come on. Let's get inside quick."

Harry was hustled over to the doorway. "Be quiet when we enter," Tonks leaned over to whisper to him, "There's this horrible portrait that it's best not to wake up." Harry nodded, looking curiously around as he entered the house.

He couldn't help but notice how incredibly dreary it seemed. The hallway was dim, the furniture seemed as though it was covered in dust, and he had the odd sensation that someone was watching him.

Remus guided him through the hallway. "And this, Harry," he said as he opened the kitchen door, "is Grimmauld Place."

The first thing Harry noticed was that the kitchen, thankfully, seemed to be in slightly better condition than the hallway. The second thing was that Sirius (as well as another unknown man) was standing next to the kitchen table. Harry couldn't help the wide grin that almost split his face. "Sirius!"

Sirius smiled back at Harry. "Hey there Prongslet," he greeted as he swept him into a hug. "Let me look at you then." He released Harry, leaning back so he could see him. "Well, definitely taller. Possibly skinnier."

Harry made a face, and Sirius laughed before suddenly frowning. "What's that?" He reached out to trace a finger along Harry's cheekbone.

"Huh?"

"The bruise." Bruise? "On your cheek." Oh. Uncle Vernon. Right. Harry winced. "It's turning a horrible purple color."

"Bruise?" Remus questioned, coming around so he could peer at Harry as well, "I didn't notice anything before."

Harry awkwardly shuffled his feet and turned his head so he didn't have to look at the two marauder's piercing gazes. His eyes alighted on the other man that had been present in his room upon arrival. He was particularly nondescript, light brown hair and brown eyes. He had an odd expression on his face, as though he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, and his eyes stared at Harry with a frightening intensity. Harry quickly looked away.

"Well?" Remus was saying, "How'd that happen?"

Harry shrugged. "Uncle Vernon wasn't particularly happy with the whole dementor fiasco."

There was a beat of silence. Both Sirius's and Remus's faces appeared murderous (and, oddly enough, so did the strange man's in the corner).

Remus frowned. "He hit you?"

"Um, well, he didn't really _hit_ me. Just, you know…" he trailed off uncertainly, averting his eyes from the explosive looks being sent in his direction.

"Harry." Remus warned

"It was just a slap," he mumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. "Not a big deal."

Sirius stared at him for a few more moments before growling, "I'm going to fucking _kill that bastard_."

For once, Harry noted, Remus didn't correct Sirius's language. Instead, he seemed to be nodding his head and lips twisted unpleasantly. "Does this happen often?" he asked cautiously.

"No!" Harry felt like throwing his arms up in the air. "This is the first time he's done that." He rolled his eyes. When the two worried looks still didn't disappear he added, "I solemnly swear that the Dursleys do not abuse me."

"Harry – " Sirius started.

"I'd rather not talk about this right now, if you don't mind."

A sigh, followed by a (what was probably supposed to be a discreet) glance to the strange man in the corner, and then, "Alright." Sirius narrowed his eyes, "But don't think this conversation is over. _Bloody bastard,_" he mumbled under his breath.

"I'll go get some salve," Remus announced. "Harry, why don't you get comfortable at the kitchen table while I go fetch it?"

Harry nodded, and seated himself. Some of the other people who had come to collect him were already seated around the table. They had politely ignored the discussion between him, Sirius, and Remus, but every now and again one of them threw a curious or concerned glance at his cheek. Harry had to stop himself from self-consciously trying to hide it. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

Sirius went sat himself in the chair next to him, and the man who had stood up when Harry entered the room sat down across from him. There was an awkward silence, and finally Sirius spoke.

"Um, that's James. Um. Howards," he stuttered, "He's also in the Order." (Harry really needed to figure out what the hell this "Order" was.)

"Oh. Nice to meet you," Harry said politely.

James nodded. "You – " He cleared his throat nervously. "You too." His hands twitched on the table, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to offer to shake his hand. He didn't though, and instead dug his nails into the table. Harry noticed that everyone else in the room seemed to be watching them with avid eyes. He shifted, slightly disconcerted.

Remus saved him from further awkward silence with his arrival. "Here's the cream," he said, handing Harry a small jar. "I'm sure you'll want to put it on yourself."

"Thanks."

"No problem," he smiled, though his eyes were still troubled. "Why don't you head upstairs? Ron and Hermione are here, and I'm sure they'd love to see you. You'll be sleeping with Ron, so he can show you your bedroom."

Harry's eyes widened. "Ron and Hermione are here?" he asked excitedly, pushing his chair back from the table. Realizing his departure was rather abrupt, and that everyone in the room was still staring at him (did they _really_ have to do that?), he offered a quick goodbye. "Um, nice to meet you all." To Remus and Sirius he said, "It's nice to see you guys again."

"You too, Harry."

"Right, well, I'll just be on my way then." He picked up the salve from the table, and beat a hasty retreat.

-AND-

His heart wouldn't stop pounding, his hands were sweaty, and his eyes were glued on the door through which _his son_ had just exited. He was going to throw up. Anything to stop the tension radiating throughout his body, the insatiable need to rush out the door after his baby, sweep him into his arms, and never let him go.

But he didn't look like his baby anymore. All tall and gangly, with a sense of awareness and confidence. No longer wide-eyed and innocent, but someone who while not yet a man was well on his way there. His throat closed.

But that bruise on his cheek. James was going to kill Vernon. He had never liked him, but to dare raise a hand against his son? There would be hell to pay. James had never felt such boiling, consuming rage as he had when Harry had crossed his arms defensively across his chest and muttered that "Uncle Vernon wasn't particularly happy with the whole dementor fiasco" as casual as you please. It had taken all his much worn strength not to butt into the conversation with Harry, Remus, and Sirius.

And seeing those three interact had hurt. Because Harry was obviously comfortable with them, looked at them with familiarity and comfort compared to the polite, empty gaze he had treated James with. His best friends knew his own son better.

When Sirius had introduced him, he had tried his hardest to come up with something witty to say. Something that would make Harry like him, make him smile and call him "Dada" like James could remember him doing only weeks before. Where had his whole world gone in these few short weeks? It had grown up. And while most parents had years to get used to the fact that one day their baby wouldn't be a baby anymore, James had had a fraction of that time. So many memories, moments, and firsts lost forever.

James wondered what Harry was like. Sirius had said he was in Gryffindor, that he played Quidditch, and liked Defense Against the Dark Arts. But what did all of that mean? And Sirius couldn't answer things like what side of the bed Harry liked to sleep on, or _who_ Harry actually was.

And right now, to James, that was a stranger.

Even if Sirius had said "Here's your dad, Harry, he's back from the dead!" James wouldn't have known what to do. What do you do with a child who's yours but has never known you? Even if Harry had believed Sirius, it would have been an awkward reunion. False greetings exchanged, not knowing whether to hug or shake hands or what to call the other person or all those other things that would have effortlessly been figured out over that lost time.

Would James ever truly get to be a father to Harry? Or when Harry found out, would they never truly develop the bond that he so desperately desired and needed? And what if Harry didn't like him? What if he wasn't what Harry had expected in a father?

He was so confused. And lost. And his heart, even minutes later was still pounding away in his chest like a caged animal. And even now he couldn't stop the overwhelming need to run up the stairs and scream at Harry to just, if nothing else, look at him and see him. To gaze at him with the eyes of a son looking at his trusted and admired dad.

And James didn't know if that would ever happen. Right now he was James Howard, the random stranger his trusted godfather had introduced. His eyes closed in pain.

-AND-

**A/N:** And the end of the chapter! Not as long as the other one, but that would have meant the chapter would have taken another two/three weeks (Graduation tomorrow. Then party all night. Then another party. Then road trip with my friends where we will be staying in a tree house as one of our hotels. Yess.) Actually, what is your preferred chapter length? This chapter? Shorter than this? The previous chapter? Longer than that?

And… I know I've been gone for forever. And I'm really, really sorry. But this story is not yet abandoned. I just chose to start posting it at a really bad time. I had _no_ idea how hectic my senior year of high school would be. Everyone told me it would be super easy, so I thought I would have time for this – but it was probably my busiest yet. So I turned out not to have enough time for anything, and somethings had to give. Writing this story was one of them. But I am hoping this summer to crank out a few more chapters. Then the first months or so of university (OH MY GAWDD! *freaks out*) it'll probably slow down, but speed up again once I get into the groove of it all. ^^

So thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and encouraged me. Feedback really does motivate me, and I appreciate it. You guys are great. *huggle*I hope you all stick with me and continue to read this story!

And now: review! Even if it is to only yell at me for being the most horrible author ever for not updating in _months_. *runs away and hides*

**OH! ALSO! ALMOST FORGOT:** I'm looking for a beta to bounce ideas off of, and to edit my writing. Because right now I am editing my own stuff, and that's never a good idea. It really helps me to talk through stuff with another person. So if you're interested, please let me know. And I really want someone who won't just point out "this comma's in the wrong place", but say "this paragraph is entirely unnecessary, does nothing to move the story along" or "this is a major plot hole" or "why the hell did you write this, this is utter crap". You know. But comma pointing out is good too. ^^

Right. Now go off and review. :)

(Sorry for oober long author's note… *shame*)

And damn all the page breaks which keep on getting deleted. Here's to hoping they actually work... *glare*


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and editors.**

Chapter Four

Harry trampled up the stairs, looking around himself curiously. The house was so …_creepy_. There wasn't anything in specific he could point to that gave him the horrible, squirming feeling in his gut (well, perhaps the house elf heads on the walls…), but he still couldn't get rid of it. He didn't like being here.

He continued on his way, poking his head into the various rooms he was actually able to open (the vast number of them, he discovered, were locked). Finally, on the third floor, he opened a door to find Ron and Hermione sitting on the floor playing chess. To Harry's amusement, Hermione's expression was a little disgruntled and Ron's just on the wrong side of smug. Even though he was still slightly annoyed about the lack of communication that summer, he couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face.

"Ron! Hermione!" he called, fully stepping into the room. Two heads whipped in his direction with alarming speed, and the next thing Harry knew half his vision was full of a rather frizzy brown head of hair, and he was practically being choked to death. Ron just chuckled and walked over, giving Harry a manly slap on the back.

"Mate!" he exclaimed, but before he continued, Hermione interrupted.

"Oh, Harry! It's so good to see you! I missed you so much over the summer, and when I heard about the dementors, well I just, I couldn't believe it! And I'm so glad you're all right! I was so worried that something would have happened to you and," here she paused, finally loosening her hold on him and peering up into his face, "You _are_ okay, right?"

"Besides the fact I'm suffocating right now?"

"Oh." Hermione colored slightly, and stepped back.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Harry reassured her.

"Good," Ron nodded firmly, "though it totally sucks about the trial."

"_Ron_," Hermione hissed at the same time Harry questioned, "Trial?"

"Um, you didn't hear?"

"Well," Hermione said, taking over the conversation, "Dumbledore pulled a few strings at the ministry, and got them to grant you a trial instead of just immediately snapping your wand."

"Oh," Harry replied, trying to process what she had just said. At least they weren't going to snap his wand straight away. But a trial? Harry gulped. That sounded slightly intimidating. And who was going to be judging him? Because if Fudge had any say in the matter at all, he was going to end up wandless _and_ locked up in Azkaban, no matter how illegal that might be.

"But don't worry about it," Hermione said, interpreting his silence as him freaking out (which he wasn't, for the record), "I've looked it all up, and they can't expel you. You didn't violate the law; you were doing it to protect yourself."

"Yeah, but when has the law ever stopped the Ministry from doing anything?" Harry responded bitterly.

Hermione was silent, and it was Ron this time who came to the rescue. "Don't worry about it mate. Here, let's finish up the chess game. I'm totally slaughtering Hermione."

Hermione frowned heavily at this, but didn't say anything, most likely only because she thought Harry was some delicate flower and this would distract him nicely. Harry went along with the flow. Besides, he still had some questions to ask.

"So," he started, once they had all settled around the chessboard, and a couple moves had been exchanged (and, indeed, Ron _was_ slaughtering Hermione; not that that was news), "What's this Order of the Phoenix I've been hearing so much about?"

"Oh, that," Hermione answered distractedly, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what strategy Ron was trying to use, "It's a sort of… secret society, I suppose. It's from the last war, when Dumbledore formed it as a group to oppose You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. Now that You-Know-Who's back, Dumbledore's recalled it. It's a good thing too, because I certainly don't see the Ministry doing anything. They're too busy slandering both yours and Dumbeldore's names."

"Slandering our names?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yeah, you haven't been getting the Daily Prophet, have you? They're murdering you and Dumbledore. Calling you guys liars and psychopaths, and all sorts of crazy stuff," Ron replied.

"What?"

"We don't believe it, of course," Hermione assured him, "And I'm sure a lot of people are still on your side." Harry wasn't so sure about that – the Triwizard Tournament had showed him many things, one of which was that people tended to believe what they read to an absurd degree.

"Bastards. If they won't admit that Voldemort's back," Harry ignored the twin flinches, "then we're screwed."

"We know, Harry, we know."

An ominous silence settled over them. "You know," Harry started delicately, unsure how to approach the question, "I wouldn't be so surprised about all this if you guys had actually written to me. You know, like you _promised_."

His words hung heavy in the air for a few moments before either responded.

Finally Hermione turned her attention away from the board game. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, truly looking guilty, "but Dumbledore said we shouldn't write anything of importance in them, just in case they got intercepted."

"That makes sense," Harry conceded grudgingly, "But what about the stuff that was common knowledge? You know, like the _Prophet_ slandering me?"

"Dumbledore thought it was best to just avoid the whole issue, mate…"

"I see," Harry said, mouth twisting at the corners.

"I'm sorry," Hermione repeated again. "How are you… how are you holding up? With the whole, um, you know."

"Cedric dying? Voldemort coming back to life?" Harry replied flatly.

Hermione winced. "Yeah…"

"Fine."

Neither looked as though they believed him.

"Well, if you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here." Ron slapped his shoulder in the name of male bonding.

"_We're_ here," Hermione corrected.

Despite left over annoyance, Harry felt a warm glow. "Thanks guys. Just don't… don't do anything like that again. It was horrible not knowing anything."

"I don't know, if next summer…" Hermione looked uncertain.

Harry looked at her.

"Alright," she conceded, "Promise."

"Promise," Ron echoed.

Harry grinned. "Alright Hermione, I'm joining you. It's the only way we even have a chance of beating Ron."

"Hey!" Ron protested, "That's not fair!"

-AND-

Harry jerked from sleep, eyes wide, and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His breaths came in heavy pants, and he frantically tried to calm his racing pulse. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the echo of a bright green flash of light imprinted itself on the inside of his eyelids.

_Just a dream_, he tried to convince himself. _Just a dream_.

But it _wasn't_ a dream – Cedric had died. Yet that hadn't been the worst part; Harry had gotten almost used to reliving Cedric's senseless death over the summer. No, it had been the voices of his parents.

_You killed him, Harry. How could we ever want a son like you? A murderer, that's what you are. And that's what you were from the start. We never would have died if it weren't for you. It's always your fault, always, always, always…_

_Stop!_ he ordered himself, banishing the image of disappoint shining bright in ghostly eyes. It wasn't his fault… and his parents were dead. They – it didn't even matter. Because Harry was here, and they were dead, and that was that.

Knowing he wasn't going to be able to get to sleep again anytime soon, he quietly stumbled out of bed, careful not to wake Ron, and slipped out the door. His bare feet echoed coldly in the foreboding dark of the hallway, and Harry shivered, wrapping his arms closer around his body.

He made it to the kitchen, and set about making himself a cup of hot tea.

"I already have some tea made, if you want. Should still be hot; I only made it minutes ago," a voice unexpectedly called from behind him. Heart beating fast, Harry whirled around to face the man sitting at the table. He had been introduced to him earlier… James Howard, was it? The man chuckled at his overreaction, and Harry felt his cheeks heat.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and poured some of the tea from the teapot into his mug. He hesitantly sat down across from the man. "Mr. Howards, right?" he ventured.

There was an awkward silence, and Harry was beginning to wish he hadn't said anything. "James," the man finally answered, "Call me James. And you're Harry?" Harry nodded, and the silence stretched on once more.

"So, what brings you down here so late at night?" the man ventured hesitantly.

"Couldn't sleep." He shrugged and felt his lips twist into a wry smile. Nothing out of the usual there.

"Oh. Um." The man – James, Harry reminded himself – obviously felt unsure about whether to pry further. "Me too," he finally settled with.

Harry nodded again, and stared down at his half-drunk tea. "Well, nice talking to you," he said as he stood up. "I'm going to head back up and at least try to get some shut eye." He rinsed out his cup. "Thanks for the tea," he said to James as he hurried out of the most awkward experience of his life.

-AND-

Harry woke up the day of his trial not feeling as rested as he probably should have. After going back to his room the night before, it had taken at least another hour until he had fallen into a rather restless slumber. He blearily checked the time on the clock next to him – six o'clock. Definitely too early to be awake. But he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon, so he lugged himself out of the bed, and quietly set about waking himself up.

He emerged from the shower feeling slightly better, though by now a million butterflies had erupted in his stomach. They were annoyingly distracting. And now he was presented with the dilemma of what the hell he was supposed to wear. His exceptionally ratty muggle clothes? His Hogwarts robes? His _dress_ robes?

In the end he chose his best pair of jeans (in that they didn't have any holes and only required him to roll the ends up twice), and the only button down shirt he owned. He figured someone would say something if he needed to be wearing robes.

God. He didn't even want to think about what was going to be happening in a few short hours. If, if – it was an absolutely terrifying thought. Harry couldn't help but have a new respect for Hagrid. To have something like one's magic torn away was a chilling thought. In fact, it made him vaguely sick so he forced himself to stop thinking about it.

It was getting close to seven now. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, wondering what to do with the extra time. They weren't leaving for the trial until nine. He supposed breakfast wouldn't hurt. Even though the thought of food was making his stomach churn, it wouldn't create a particularly good impression if he fainted in front of the jury from low blood sugar.

He stood up from the bed, braced himself against the sliding slickness of the house that enveloped him whenever he walked into the hallway (it was always present, but seemed to be worst there, Harry had noticed), and trudged downstairs to find, unsurprisingly, an empty kitchen.

He made himself an omelet and some tea, and by the time a very surprised Molly Weasley entered the kitchen, he was pleasantly sfull, if not still insanely nervous.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Well, you're up early. Good, good. We just received word that the trial's been moved up, so you need to head over there as soon as possible."

"Moved up?"

"Yes. Another ploy of Fudge's to make you lose the case, I'm sure. Showing up late doesn't normally get the jury on your side."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, furious. How dare Fudge –

"But never mind that, dear. Arthur will be down in a moment to take you to the ministry. Eggs on toast good for breakfast?" she asked, already cracking them in the pan.

"Oh, um. I already had breakfast," Harry replied frowning, still furious about Fudge.

Mrs. Weasley threw him another surprised look, followed by one of concern. Harry was very relieved that Mr. Weasley chose that moment to enter the room.

Mrs. Weasley still offered him a gentle smile and a "you'll be fine, dear, don't worry" before she shooed both Mr. Weasley and Harry out of the house.

-AND-

The trial was a success, but Harry couldn't help but deem it a disaster.

It had been obvious from the beginning that Fudge was doing everything within his power to make Harry out to be some lying, attention-seeking little kid. And that annoying, pink, fluffy woman – Harry had wanted to strangle her.

If it hadn't been for Dumbledore, Harry was pretty sure Fudge would have convinced the jury of his misconceptions. And Dumbledore had been another annoyance – refusing to look at Harry, avoiding his gaze, and all but pretending he didn't exist, despite the fact that he was defending him in bloody court. Yeah, that made perfect sense.

But it was definitely Fudge that had Harry concerned the most. The man seemed determined to ignore any and all evidence that Harry was capable of speaking the truth. The trial had confirmed Harry's worst fears: Fudge was an incapable, bumbling idiot. And if he continued to be minister, Voldemort was going to have a huge advantage by the time Fudge finally pulled his head out of his arse and realized the truth.

And it wasn't only Fudge – he seemed to have brainwashed many of the people under his command as well (though thankfully not enough that the majority couldn't see that Harry was telling the truth about the goddamn dementors). The pink, fluffy woman for instance who constantly had something stuck in her throat. Or the head of the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures (Harry couldn't remember his name, though he had introduced himself) who simply _insisted_ that Harry was mistaken because the dementors were perfectly under his control.

England was so screwed.

-AND-

**A/N: **So, this is finally out… Right. I think we've pretty much established that I'm the worst updater ever. But this chapter… just. No. You don't want to know how many times I wrote that bloody trial scene, and eventually I just got rid of it because it wasn't happening. (If you read my profile, you know this, as I was using it to vent some of my anger, haha!) Hopefully the chapter still works with me excluding that scene.

I also want to say thank you to everyone who has added this story to their favorites, to their alerts, and most especially reviewed! I appreciate every single word. I had over 20 reviews for the last chapter, and that is, frankly, simply amazing. You guys are wonderful.

So here's this chapter (my shortest yet… because I cut out the trial scene, lol). I apologize for it taking so long (uni is _murdering_ me, no joke). I'm setting a tentative deadline for March for chapter five (I have spring break during the middle of March), so we'll see how that goes.

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated and welcomed. :)


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